NOSTALGIA.
The sun rises in the Eastern sky,
Wrapped in golden orange colors,
Like a ripe orange
On a vast blue sheet.

Party walks out of the mud-hut naked,
Holding his old tattered shirt in hand,
And goes behind the old hut
To bask with nothing in mind.

From the vintage
Of their serene sweet home,
He gazes at the endless fields
Of green maize and forest
Culminating in the undulating
Green hills of Mt. Elgon.

Mother’s sweet voice
Floats across the home,
Summoning everyone for breakfast.

While his brothers and sisters
Go to work on the farm,
He takes the livestock to the valleys to graze.
While the livestock grazes,
He climbs trees.

Father comes home in the evening
Tired from working at Lulu Farm;
They all dash to meet him.
He gets him his tire sandals,
While mother gives him tea.
Father then asks about the livestock,
And mother reports everything.

During weekdays
Those who don’t go to school
Receive father’s notorious stick.
But Party loves home and school
And does well in his exams.

Now he himself is a father
Of beautiful beings,
And works in a big city
A big city with rumbling machines and cars
Instead of rumbling rains, thunders and rivers;
A big city with lofty buildings
Instead of lofty trees;
A city that knows neither serenity nor greenness,
And does not tolerate childhood.

SMILE